Chapter 6 - Bloodlines And Pawn Tickets
The restoration of the old Oak Park shop began forty-eight hours later.
I stood on the worn hardwood floor, breathing in the scent of aged cedar and brass polish.
A team of Luca’s men, dressed in clean work overalls instead of tailored suits, moved heavy display cases.
Ray Collins stood by the front window, supervising the delivery of high-security glass panes.
He caught my eye and walked over, his steps lighter than they had been in sixteen years.
“Miss Emma,” Ray said, pulling a flat cardboard box from his coat. “The boss asked me to bring this to you.”
I opened the box.
Inside sat my uncle’s complete collection of diamond master stones.
Color-grading stones ranging from D to M, sealed in airtight acrylic cases.
I thought they had been lost to probate auctions years ago.
“Where did he find these?” I whispered, running my fingers over the familiar labels.
“Mr. Moretti spent yesterday afternoon tracking down the auction house that bought your uncle’s estate,” Ray said gently.
“He bought back every tool, every notebook, and every bench vise.”
My eyes stung with sudden, hot tears.
Before I could reply, the heavy brass bell above the front door chimed.
Luca Moretti walked in.
He wore a dark navy wool coat over an open-collared white shirt.
The lethal aura that usually surrounded him was subdued, but his dark eyes remained sharp and observant.
He walked straight to the main jeweler’s bench and set down a faded yellow slip of paper.
“What is this, Mr. Moretti?” I asked.
“It's a pawn ticket,” Luca said.
“Found in Hector Corvallis’s private safe during the federal raid this morning.”
I leaned over the counter and studied the ink.
It was issued by an establishment called Crown City Loan & Jewelry on South State Street.
The date stamped on the corner was October 12, 1994.
Two days before Isabella Moretti was murdered.
And the item listed was:
“One loose oval brilliant diamond, 7.12 carats, vivid blue, VS1.”
My breath hitched.
“A seven-carat vivid blue diamond?”
“The Star of Genoa,” Luca said quietly.
“My grandfather brought it from Italy after the war.”
“My mother wore it as a pendant on the day she married my father.”
“When she died, the pendant was missing from her jewelry box.”
“My father assumed she had lost it in Lake Michigan during their anniversary cruise.”
Luca looked at the pawn ticket.
“She didn't lose it.”
“She pawned it forty-eight hours before she died.”
“Why would your mother pawn her own family heirloom?” I asked.
Luca’s jaw set into hard lines.
“To raise cash that my father couldn't trace.”
“She was buying passage for someone.”
“Or paying off someone who had threatened her.”
Luca tapped the glass counter with his knuckle.
“The pawnshop still exists.”
May you like
“It’s run by Hector Corvallis’s uncle, Silvio Vance.”
“And we are going to pay him a visit.”
